Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1 — John Shaqi
Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1Wilson, John
General
Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1
Wilson, John
Essays
From that hour Angling is no more a mere delightful daydream, haunted by
the dim hopes of imaginary minnows, but a reality--an art--a science--of
which the flaxen-headed schoolboy feels himself to be master--a mystery
in which he has been initiated; and off he goes now, all alone, in the
power of successful passion, to the distant brook--brook a mile
off--with fields, and hedges, and single trees, and little groves, and a
huge forest of six acres, between and the house in which he is boarded
or was born! There flows on the slender music of the shadowy
shallows--there pours the deeper din of the birch-tree'd waterfall. The
scared water-pyet flits away from stone to stone, and dipping,
disappears among the airy bubbles, to him a new sight of joy and wonder.
And oh! how sweet the scent of the broom or furze, yellowing along the
braes, where leap the lambs, less happy than he, on the knolls of
sunshine! His grandfather has given him a half-crown rod in two
pieces--yes, his line is of hair twisted--plaited by his own
soon-instructed little fingers. By Heavens, he is fishing with the fly!
And the Fates, grim and grisly as they are painted to be by full-grown,
ungrateful, lying poets, smile like angels upon the paidler in the
brook, winnowing the air with their wings into western breezes, while at
the very first throw the yellow trout forsakes his fastness beneath the
bog-wood, and with a lazy wallop, and then a sudden plunge, and then a
race like lightning, changes at once the child into the boy, and shoots
through his thrilling and aching heart the ecstasy of a new life
expanding in that glorious pastime, even as a rainbow on a sudden
brightens up the sky. _Fortuna favet fortibus_--and with one long pull,
and strong pull, and pull altogether, Johnny lands a twelve-incher on
the soft, smooth, silvery sand of the only bay in all the burn where
such an exploit was possible, and dashing upon him like an osprey, soars
up with him in his talons to the bank, breaking his line as he hurries
off to a spot of safety twenty yards from the pool, and then flinging
him down on a heath-surrounded plat of sheep-nibbled verdure, lets him
bounce about till he is tired, and lies gasping with unfrequent and
feeble motions, bright and beautiful, and glorious with all his yellow
light and crimson lustre, spotted, speckled, and starred in his scaly
splendour, beneath a sun that never shone before so dazzlingly; but now
the radiance of the captive creature is dimmer and obscured, for the eye
of day winks and seems almost shut behind that slow-sailing mass of
clouds, composed in equal parts of air, rain, and sunshine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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